


Rules of Engagement

by junko



Series: Written in the Scars (of Our Hearts) [1]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Original Character(s), POV Original Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-24
Updated: 2013-04-24
Packaged: 2017-12-09 09:38:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/772726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junko/pseuds/junko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Renji leaves, Byakuya has to finally deal with the wrath of Auntie Massay...</p>
<p>This continues "Chasing Demons" almost immediately following the final scene of that series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rules of Engagement

**Author's Note:**

> This is a new series, but I'm sorry to say that if you haven't read a least some of "Chasing Demons" the events that begin this one are likely to make VERY LITTLE SENSE. 
> 
> A huge thanks goes to [Josey (cestus)](http://archiveofourown.org/users/cestus/pseuds/Josey) for her help with the fight scene (she is a genius in these matters) as well as the Japanese for Kinjo's zanpakutou's name Genbi (speak beautifully 言美) and its release command "karasou" (shout yourself hoarse). She also did her usual check for typos, (though if any remain they're entirely my fault.)
> 
> Also, apparently, I'm writing longer installment/chapters this time. As always, comments are welcome and appreciated! Enjoy!

Relief temporarily held Byakuya’s swirling stomach at bay. Through the haze of his hangover, one bright beacon shone--Renji was saying ‘yes.’ It was clearly conditional, but it was still a ‘yes.’ When Renji lifted his finger from Byakuya’s lips, Byakuya asked one final important question, “Will you let me begin to woo you back immediately?”

“Hmm?” Renji had bent to kiss the last of the tears from Byakuya’s cheek. Lips were a feather light touch that should have upset a fluttering stomach, but, instead felt like an anchor tossed deep into Byakuya’s soul.

There was a hiss of an intake of disgusted breath from where Aunt Masama fumed in the corner, but both men ignored her for the moment.

“Tonight,” Byakuya said, his fingers still gripping the sides of Renji’s shihakushô as though clinging to a raft in a raging sea. Looking deeply into those brown eyes that could glow with an unearthly fire akin to his crimson hair, Byakuya reminded Renji, “Dinner. We have the reservation? If you must cancel, I’d understand.” 

He’d understand, but his heart would be crushed. Still, it was probably no more than he deserved.

Renji considered it seriously. “I have a shitload to do before I go, but I also got to eat. And, so yeah, I don’t see why not. I mean, this is part the courting stuff, right?”

“It is,” Byakuya said with a soft smile. 

Renji returned the crooked and toothy grin Byakuya had grown to love. “All right then, I’m expecting something awesome.”

“I’ll do my best.” It was difficult, but Byakuya loosened his fingers and let Renji go. At least Renji was being patient and understanding with him. 

The same could not, however, be said of Aunt Masama.

Since Byakuya had snapped at her, she’d been seething quietly in the corner of the antechamber. Throughout the entire exchange with Renji, Byakuya could feel the weight of her glare and the tiny stabs of her spiking reiatsu. 

Now that they’d kissed properly at the door and Renji was saying goodbye, her not insubstantial spiritual pressure was like a hurricane at his back. Byakuya knew that the moment he slid the door closed the onslaught would begin. Perhaps that’s why he clung there, hanging on to the frame with whitening knuckles, trying to suck every ounce of cool air from the hallway. Renji may have fixed the kenseikan, but Byakuya’s head still pounded, his stomach lurched with every movement, and an icy sweat poured from each pore. He wished Renji wasn’t walking away; Byakuya could use something strong and solid to lean on, to shelter him from the coming storm.

“Stop mooning after him!” Masama shouted. “Have you no shame? Where’s your dignity?”

Spattered in a monumental high-speed spew somewhere between here and the Second division, Byakuya thought wryly. He’d have to tell Renji about that little misadventure later. If anyone could appreciate the disgusting physics of vomiting in shunpō, it would be Renji. 

Byakuya kept his back to his aunt. “I’m feeling unwell,” he explained in a tone he prayed was more haughty than whiny. “I’ll retire for a few hours, and then we can—“

Masama had a hold of the sleeve of his haori in a claw-like grip. “Not so fast, young man. You’re not getting out of this that easily. I can’t believe I had to watch that… that… person _touching_ the noble kenseikan!”

Turning around, he met Masama’s gaze. She was at least a head shorter than him, so he had the satisfaction of being able to look down his nose at her, “Yes, and very obviously not for the first time. Does it gall you to know he’s touched far more than that?”

Her hand left his sleeve like it was on fire. She sucked in a long, horrified breath, her steel grey eyes wide. It was weirdly satisfying to Byakuya to see her recoil from him this way. 

Alas, his victory was short lived. With a deep breath, Masama seemed to pull herself together, though her fan flicked out to hide her face behind the fluttering scene of bathing swans. She clucked her tongue, “This is what comes of being raised by military men, I suppose. You’ve never had much sense in these matters. First, that painted hussy and now this…” her eyes went wild again trying to come up with an appropriate insult, but all she managed was, “… rough creature.”

Byakuya knew he should defend Hisana’s honor, but no words came to his thick and heavy tongue. Plus, he’d had to endure that particular jab so many times that he hardly even felt its sting. And ‘rough creature’? No doubt Renji had weathered far worse. Byakuya let out a little sigh and pinched the space between his eyebrows. “Hisana has been dead for half a century. Could you not find it in your heart to let the issue rest?”

“No, never! I hope she’s in Hell for what she did to this family,” Masama snarled. “I will never forgive your selfishness either, boy! Alliances broken! So many hopes dashed. Our honor and good name completely sullied by that lowborn whore! And not even a single heir to show for it!”

Trying not to rise to the bait and swallowing back the bile that threatened the back of his throat, Byakuya attempted to redirect Masama’s focus: “About the issue of an heir—“

“Yes, about that,” her fan snapped shut, and rudely smacked the spot directly over Byakuya’s heart. She stood so close that her perfume tickled his nose, nauseatingly strong. The jewels of her hairpins glinted, crossing his eyes. “No more games, boy! You will marry a woman of my choosing immediately. I will only forgive this ridiculous dalliance of yours once you give our house a proper heir.”

“No, I’m afraid I will not, but—“ he began, but a tap of the fan cut him off.

“Yes! Yes, you will! You forget the cards I hold, Bya-chan. Your Third Seat has evidence that could destroy your position as captain of the Sixth. Perhaps more importantly, he could discredit that… that… lieutenant of yours. I have a very clear picture of his vulnerabilities now, too, thanks to our little negotiation. Your little Rukongai dog has nowhere to go if he’s stripped of his rank. Nowhere but prison, that is. The Third Seat knows his regulations and civil law very well, Byakuya. Fraternization is serious, but given your birth and blood much, much worse could be charged against him for even daring to touch you. So you see? Your newest little Inuzuri bitch could hang! Given your dishonorable blubbering a few moments ago, it seems quite obvious you’d do anything to protect him from such a fate. Unless you want watch him die an undignified shameful death, you will marry a decent, proper woman and you will give the clan an heir.”

It was too much, too fast, and far too awful to contemplate. 

Byakuya had only one response: he threw up on aunt Masama’s slippers.

Fingers wrapped themselves into the silk of the shoulders of her kimono, and Byakuya held himself upright with trembling arms, listening to Masama making horrified noises. After he seemed unable to heave up anything more than dry coughs, she sniffed, daintily stepping out of the pool at her feet, “I see you understand the seriousness of this finally. Good. I will present you with my candidate tomorrow morning. You should….” He didn’t have to see it, to hear the sneer in her voice, “…clean up.”

Then, Masama pulled herself from under Byakuya’s arms and stalked off, leaving him to collapse weakly to the floor.

Byakuya had no idea how long he knelt there, staring blearily at the clear liquid seeping into the tatami with his head on fire and his stomach roiling. Evidence? Masama couldn’t mean that. Unless there was something Byakuya didn’t know about, all the Third Seat had was his word against theirs. Perhaps she intended to rush that marriage as well, to make it Kuchiki against Kuchiki. Still, Miisho would only be married in, and to a distant cousin, Byakuya was still the clan head, surely he still had the advantage….

Suddenly, there was a gentle hand at his elbow offering to help him up with a careful: “My lord? Perhaps you’d let me put you to bed?”

Just a nod from him and Byakuya was being taken care of. Lead from the room like a child; undressed and dressed like a doll. Eishirō tucked the sheets around Byakuya’s shoulders and said, “I’ll have one of the girls bring up a cold compress for your head and some ginger tea for your stomach.”

“Thank you,” Byakuya murmured, as a fitful and restless sleep overwhelmed him.

#

The lieutenant softened his lordship, Eishirō decided, like Lady Hisana had. Perhaps soften wasn’t the right word, as it implied a weakness, a lessening. Lighten? Yes, that was it, Eishirō thought as he finished tucking the young master in. Renji lifted Byakuya-sama up. In the lieutenant’s company, the master’s spirit was not nearly so heavy and sad… and troubled.

Even though his lordship was already falling to sleep, Eishirō made a deep bow as he backed out of the master suite. He knelt at the door and slid it shut. He stayed there a moment longer than necessary considering all he’d overheard in the past twenty four hours. 

It seemed the Lady Masama was planning a coup. 

She’d still been muttering to herself as she passed Eishirō’s obediently kneeling form in the hallway. A new wife for Byakuya-sama? This time, Lady Masama seemed much more certain—almost triumphant--that his lordship would have to capitulate. It was clearly not an arrangement the young master desired in any way shape or form. So what did the Lady Masama have over Byakuya-sama, Eishirō wondered; what was the crux of her blackmail—for surely that was what it must be.

That she’d found out about the affair was obvious the moment she stormed into the estate. 

Among noble families, however, a pre-existing lover was not normally an impediment to a marriage contract. The former Lord Kuchiki had several, both before and after the marriage and even though Eishirō wasn’t the steward at the time, the whole staff knew of them. Of course, as a tea boy, Eishirō also heard the rumors of an illegitimate daughter, a younger sister to Byakuya-sama out somewhere in the ranks of the Gotei Thirteen. A maid’s child. That seemed preposterous, though, since the Kuchiki were rarely so untidy with their progeny, surely the girl would have been whisked far away and never allowed so close to a half-brother. So who knew the truth of it all?

At any rate, Renji ought to represent zero threat to any marriage--except in that Byakuya-sama clearly was not interested in such an alliance for any reason beyond love. Such a hopeless romantic! Even Byakuya-sama’s father, the poet, had had a better business sense when it came to the politics of contracts and heirs.

In this one way—love—Byakuya-sama acted more like a commoner than a noble. His family hated him for what they saw as a flaw and selfishness. But, it was for this very reason Eishirō had no plans to let the Lady Masama have her way.

Byakuya-sama in love was a tremendous beauty to behold, and the whole household ached for a return of the days when his lordship filled the estate with the joy they’d only so briefly known with the Lady Hisana. 

Perhaps they could not only have that again… but it might last a bit longer. After all, things with Lady Hisana had started out tumultuous as well. There had been much hot and cold, on and off, and periods of great strife and heartbreak—it seemed this kind of drama was a critical sign that Byakuya-sama was invested in a relationship. 

She’d made him woo her, too.

And now his lordship had promised to court another.

Thus, if whatever the Lady Masama was planning would upset Byakuya-sama’s courtship of the lieutenant, then it must fail. Eishirō would put the entire household on it, if he had to.

Rising to his feet, Eishirō walked along the servant’s passageways to the kitchen. No surprise, he could hear Renji’s voice, begging leftovers from Miki. “Come on,” he was saying, “Just one! They look so good and I’m starving.”

“I already gave you lunch. If you’re still hungry, go to the mess, soldier! The cakes are for Lady Masama and her guest,” Miki protested.

“Then let him eat them all,” Eishirō said as he came up to the threshold. Both Miki and Renji seemed surprised by his vehemence. But, crossing his arms in front of his chest, Eishirō leaned against the doorframe. He glanced at Renji and added, “Our guest, your Third Seat, is not one of my favorite people at the moment.”

Renji stuffed one of the fancy tea cakes into his mouth before Miki could stop him. “Yeah, well, me neither.”

“Because of what he has over you,” Eishirō surmised. “What is it, then? Some… military thing?”

Renji eyed the other cakes, but Miki was already moving the tray away from his reach. He shrugged, “Maybe. Miisho caught me out in a private moment. If it could be proven, it could be fraternization.”

Fraternization? That could be disastrous, as it would affect his lordship too. 

One of the things Eishirō had grown to appreciate about Renji was how surprisingly circumspect he could be, particularly around issues of the master’s honor. There was the gift he’d brought to make up for some of their… messes during his lordship’s illness--it had been amazingly thoughtful. Clearly, Renji had put in effort to find out the sorts of things Eishirō considered a luxury, and the whole thing had been surprisingly humbly and discretely offered. Renji had made it seem as if any embarrassment should be considered his fault. 

Even now, as he spoke plainly about the issue of fraternization, the lieutenant carefully cast no aspersions on Byakuya-sama. Eishirō got the impression that if fraternization charges were leveled, Renji would shoulder all the blame, if he could.

“You may have a serious problem,” Eishirō pointed out. “I heard the word ‘evidence’ bandied about and I believe his lordship was truly… distraught.”

“Evidence?” Renji caught Eishirō up in the unnervingly predatory gaze of his. Eishirō had to admit there was something about this tattooed redhead that frightened him a little. He had stared down many a Kuchiki, but there was a rawness in this one’s power that made Eishirō want to take a step back. “What evidence?

Despite the growl in the lieutenant’s voice, Eishirō managed to hold his ground. Instead, he cleared his throat, “I don’t know. But, I intend to find out, and, if necessary, steal or destroy it before it can be used against you.”

Renji’s lips curled in a smile that Eishirō swore showed off sharp canines. “Yeah? You on my side now?”

“I am,” Eishirō sniffed. “Though only so long as his lordship remains fond of you.”

Renji snorted a laugh, “I guess that’s as good as I can hope for. So, you’re serious? You going to try to ferret out what the Third thinks he’s got on us?”

“I’m in a perfect position to try, besides, Third Seat Ōta failed to impress me.”

“Ha!” Miki laughed appreciatively from where she was putting the finishing touches on the desserts—perfect confection miniature flowers. Bluebells, no less, Lady Masama’s favorite. “You mean he failed your test!”

“Test?” Renji asked curiously. 

Eishirō arched an admonishing brow at Miki, but felt he needed to explain. He blushed a little, well aware of how devious this story would make him seem. “There is a guest room in the manor that faces the stable yards. It… often smells unpleasantly of horse manure, more so in the summer, but it happens to catch the wind just so. I offer it to guests when I’m curious what kind of person they are.”

Renji nodded as though he understood, “And what kind of person is my Third?”

“Rude.”

“Just ‘cuz he wants a room that doesn’t smell like shit?”

“No,” Eishirō quickly explained. “You misunderstand. I expect everyone to request a new room. It’s the manner in which it is done that’s the test.”

Renji’s tattooed eyebrows rose appreciatively and he let out a low whistle, “Ah, you clever bastard. So, Miisho threw some kind of hissy fit or something?”

“More than that,” Eishirō said, though the Third Seat certainly had thrown a fit—along with all sorts of insults about the intelligence of the staff. “It seems he already fancies himself a Kuchiki. Luckily, unlike them, he has no idea when he’s being offered second rate.” To Miki, he said, “I gave him the wild boar room.”

“Serves him right,” Miki agreed. To Renji, she flashed a winning smile, “It looks impressive as hell, but it’s actually where we put all the cheap, overly showy gifts. Plus, it’s not far from where the chamber pots are emptied and the kitchen vents let out. The combination is a killer in the late evening.”

“And there’s a small leak in the room that we’ve been unable to fix. A design flaw, I’m afraid,” Eishirō added with some embarrassment. As much as he liked tricking guests, it wounded his pride that the house was imperfect.

“Shit,” Renji laughed. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

Except Eishirō suspected Renji wouldn’t have refused the stable view room. Rukia hadn’t. She’d just leaned out the window and admired the fine horses, complimenting their grace and speed, and then she told Eishirō with a tear in her eye that she’d never seen a place more beautiful or vast. He’d upgraded her immediately.

“The only way to get on my bad side,” Eishirō said with a slight smile, “is if you hurt his lordship.”

Something about that made Renji flinch. His smile turned cold and then dropped entirely. “Don’t think you got to worry about that,” he muttered. “He’s stronger than me.”

Eishirō exchanged a curious glance with Miki, who noticed Renji’s odd reaction, too. ‘Stronger’? Oh, dear. That was a problematic statement given the fact that the serving girl Eishirō had sent up as a spy did, in fact, discover the lieutenant in a situation very reminiscent of the stable boy. Though, like back then, it seemed as if both parties consented, despite the difference in… status. 

Hmmm.

Well, there had been some of that with the Lady Hisana, too, hadn’t there? Not as much as with the gentlemen, but some. She was, after all, highly-trained in many arts. But Byakuya-sama was much more… gentle with her than he was with men.

“A private word, Lieutenant?”

Eishirō beckoned Renji away from Miki’s craning ears. Renji seemed reluctant, but he followed. As they walked side-by-side, Eishirō was struck by Renji’s height. The man was huge. It wouldn’t seem possible to hurt a person this big. But his lordship was beyond strong. His reiatsu was terrifyingly powerful when released.

They stopped near the backdoor. Outside, the rain had slowed to a miserable drizzle. The cool air was heavy and wet when it blew against Eishirō’s cheek from the open door. Now that he had the lieutenant here, he wasn’t sure how to ask what he needed to. After all, they were hardly close and this was an extremely private matter. Making a mistake about it would be beyond awkward. After a moment’s hesitation, Eishirō decided on the indirect approach. “Is everything well? Your negotiations with the Lady Kuchiki were very intent.”

The lieutenant leaned his massive frame against the door and rubbed the back of his neck as though weary. “I had to put on a good show, didn’t I?”

Renji’s motion, however, revealed a bruise in the shape of a thumb on his wrist. Just over a pressure point, too. Eishirō closed his eyes for a moment and bowed his head in a silent curse. “Yes, but are you well?”

Renji squinted down at Eishirō as though sensing a deeper question behind the simple phrase. Then he shrugged, “Eh. Me and him, it’s complicated at the best of times.”

Indeed.

“It’ll get better now that he’s doing things properly,” Eishirō insisted. “It was the same with Lady Hisana. They were a wreck until they began courting. It’s something about his lordship. He seems to need rules and guidelines.”

Renji smiled and let out a soft laugh. “Yeah, I guess I could see that.”

There was so much more Eishirō wanted to say, but it wasn’t his place to offer excuses for his master’s bad behavior—especially when it could all just be part of their preferences. He made a deep bow. When he came up, to Renji’s surprised eyes, he asked, “Would you like a bangasa, sir?”

#

As Renji picked his way across the muddy practice yard from the estate’s gate, he frowned at the dainty bangasa in his hands. It was always some kind of major, significant gift when Eishirō offered to keep him from the rain. 

The last time a bangasa was thrust at him it was clearly under orders from Byakuya. This time… Renji had no idea why all of a sudden Eishirō was on their side against Aunt Masama. But, it was good; they needed help.

_Evidence_.

Fuck, there was a scary thought. What could she possibly have? What could the Third have given her? 

Renji made it to the lieutenant’s office just as a new wave of thunder grumbled overhead. Under the portico, he shook out the bangasa and set it just outside the door along with his sandals. Inside, it was cozy with the steamy smell of brewing tea. He looked over at the desk, intending to thank whoever was on duty, only to see Kinjo lounging on the edge of the table, leaning flirtily into where The Fourth Seat, Nanako, seemed to be trying to do her work despite him. She was smiling slightly though, like he both annoyed and amused her.

When it looked like Kinjo might go in for a kiss, Renji cleared his throat.

Nanako jumped to her feet, a blush darkening her cheeks. Kinjo, meanwhile, turned lazily around and lifted an eyebrow, “What, you got some kind of problem with fraternization, Lieutenant?”

Renji growled inwardly. Right about now he wished he were back in the Eleventh because then he could just tell Kinjo the honest truth: he didn’t give a fuck who anyone fucked. But, this with the Sixth, so Renji figured should say something about discretion or not while on duty or… instead what came out was, “Get off my desk.”

Nanako backed up a step as Renji came forward. But, Kinjo was clearly spoiling for a fight. He took his time, slipping off the desk all languid, like he had no care in the world.

“Don’t you have something that needs doing, Seventh Seat?” Renji asked when they were nose to nose, “Because if you don’t, I can find some work for you.”

“Is that some kind of a threat?”

“You wish,” Renji snarled. He gave Kinjo a long, measuring look, and then he let out a deep sigh and pulled back a step, “You want to fight me? Sure, we can fight. But, I’ve got some things I need to do first, so, you got to give me a couple hours. Then you can be my practice Arrancar.”

Suddenly, Kinjo looked less sure. “But…uh,” he coughed a little to hide his faltering bravado, “Shikai only, right?”

“You think I’m going to hold back with Aizen’s army? What kind of practice would that be?” But, as satisfying as it might be to go bankai against a Seventh Seat, it was hardly fair. “Yeah, fine. Whatever. Just show up. Zabimaru’s hungry.”

Zabimaru agreed with a happy growling purr.

Kinjo seemed to find his attitude again. In his scratchy voice, he postured his way out the door, “Yeah, well, my Genbi is ready to kick your ‘Tail.’ Two hours. You and me.”

“Yeah, yeah, looking forward to it,” Renji nodded dismissively and waved him off over his shoulder, his attention on the paperwork Nanako had been working on. Once the door slid shut, Renji looked up at Nanako, “You said you had some questions?”

“He was just flirting, Lieutenant, I swear. We’re not together,” Nanako said quickly, her strikingly green eyes watching Renji’s face carefully.

Renji rubbed his face, feeling the weight of the hangover he hadn’t really had time to have. “Yeah, look, I believe you. After the crap you gave me, I don’t see how it could be any other way. Let’s just get through this work, so I know you’ve got this when I’m gone. Then, I should probably check in with everyone who’s going with me, especially Taicho Hitsugaya and, I dunno, maybe pack something...?” though there was really no point in that. He didn’t even have an extra pair of hakama.

He never felt more unprepared for a fight in his life. He’d read the report about the mysterious Arrancar a dozen times, but half of it was scientific mumbo jumbo from the Twelfth that Renji was beginning to think was just a bunch of hundred ken words for ‘we don’t know.’ The stuff he did understand scared the shit out of him. The combined forces of Ichigo and Urahara hadn’t made much of a dent. Ichigo… who had defeated all of them and held off the fiery flame of the Kikōō like it was nothing.

Shit.

“Lieutenant?”

Renji shook himself out. “Yeah, sorry, what were we doing?”

They tackled all the office business and Renji quizzed Nanako until he was sure she knew all of Byakuya’s preferences and quirks. He was worried he wouldn’t have much time for a decent briefing with the crew going to the Human World, but it didn’t matter in the end. The whole gathering devolved almost instantly into a squabbling match between Yumichika and Matsumoto over… fashion accessories…? Ikkaku pulled out a secret stash and started drinking in the corner. Hitsugaya-taicho stalked off in disgust.

They were so screwed.

Well, three of them had bankai; that was something. And, they’d gotten permission to use the Gentei Kaijo, if necessary, so they could fight at full strength.

So... maybe there was a chance…? 

Ah, who was he kidding? This was going to be a disaster, Renji thought as he made his way back the Sixth in the miserable drizzling rain. Well, maybe if he died, he wouldn’t have to come back and face the shame of fraternization charges. Maybe, instead, he could go out a hero, in a blaze of glory.

Eh, but then he’d miss out on all the wooing. Eishirō seemed to think this whole courtship stuff was going to turn things around for Renji and Byakuya. Frankly, Renji couldn’t figure how some flowers and poetry was going to do it, but he was willing to give it a try. It sure couldn’t hurt.

He was ready for a nap, but back at the Sixth, Kinjo was waiting for Renji at the gate. Kinjo had removed his ōdachi from its over the shoulder sheath, and carried the long sword in his hand, ready for their fight. His shoulder-length straight black hair was tied back in a simple ponytail at the nape of his neck. Two strands had escaped the binding and parted in front of his thin, wolfish face. His smile was cold and grim. “I’m so ready for this,” he said.

“Me, too. Come on, follow me.” Thing was, Renji could use a win right now. Or, if not a nice, quick victory, then perhaps some serious hardcore, knock-down, drag out brawling would do the trick.

Renji led Kinjo to one of the far practice yards. Long ago, it had been used for full-on skirmishes, war games. Thus, it was wide and empty and remote. Now-a-days, the Sixth mostly practiced kidō there, since it was far enough away from most of the major out buildings and had a sturdy wall of the estate running along one edge of the field. Muddy rainwater filled furrows of scorch marks and grass grew in sad scraggly patches. The ground was uneven and rough. Renji wasn’t sure why he’d picked this place, except it was out of the way and wouldn’t attract an audience. From the mood Kinjo was in, Renji suspected a peanut gallery would be a bad idea.

Because what radiated out of Kinjo’s reiatsu was rage—he was clearly ready to rumble. In fact, as soon as they were clear of the tree line and into the yard, Kinjo took up position opposite Renji. “Okay, you cowardly piece of shit. You can’t run away from this fight.”

“What? What the hell you talking about, Kinjo?” Renji asked, though he thought he might know. The tension between him and Kinjo had started during all the stuff with Rukia, when he’d ‘deserted’ his post to fight Ichigo on his own. Renji thought he remembered something about being ‘yellow-bellied’ for that. “I ain’t never run from a fight.”

“Yes, you have. You deserted us. You left your post.”

“To fight the bad guy!” Renji had to admit he was stunned. Even though he knew this was one of Kinjo’s issues, he really thought he’d be suffering insults about his manhood and the whole thing with Byakuya, not defending the rash decision to go off to fight Ichigo, which turned out to be a waste, anyway. Renji should have helped Ichigo from the start.

“Doesn’t matter,” Kinjo said. “Your duty was to us. You’re a goddamn shirker. And you got out of the whipping you deserved by bending over for the captain. If you’re going to turn traitor, you should take your punishment like a man, not get your boyfriend to confine you to his quarters—which you didn’t even pretend to stay in half the time! Fuck that. Fuck you, Renji Abarai!” He took a stance, legs wide, and dropped his zanpakutō level across his body. “Karasō, Genbi!” he shouted, and the sword seemed to whirl, stretching and lengthening, thickening at one end, and by the time it was done, the shape had changed entirely. A heavy golden axe head rested in Kinjo’s right hand, balanced by a haft as long as a man was tall made from a wood that shone black in the misty light. 

He began to spin it, grunting with effort as the heavy weapon built up speed. It twirled in a controlled figure of eight that could defend from all directions and lash out without any warning.

It was an impressive shikai. Not to be underestimated. In fact, the way Kinjo used it reminded Renji of Ikkaku’s Hozūkimaru. Running his hand along the blade of his own zanpakutō, he released Zabimaru wordlessly. Showing off that he no longer needed to call out shikai, Renji gave Kinjo a triumphant ‘fuck you, too’ grin.

Because, yeah, that hurt. Kinjo’s accusations cut close to the bone, and Renji hated that he had no decent answer for them.

Kinjo snarled, lip curling, and lunged. His charge almost took Renji by surprise. Almost. Genbi was a distance weapon nearly as much as Zabi was. Why come in close? 

The answer to that became apparent straight away. Kinjo pivoted about five feet out, brought the axe blade singing down towards Renji’s head. While Renji hefted Zabimaru to parry, Kinjo rolled around it and threw a punch right at Renji’s nose.

Renji’s head snapped back and he immediately tasted blood. Kinjo whooped and retreated, Genbi spinning again, this time in a slow lazy loop of metal and wood.

Shaking out his shoulders, Renji sniffed and spat. Right, so that was going to be the way it was, was it?

The next few minutes became about probing defenses than really attacking. Renji knew Kinjo’s shikai, but they hadn’t sparred often, not one on one, and Renji wasn’t accustomed to the way the weight of the axe head changed the angles of deflection when he sent Zabimaru in for a whip attack. On the upside, Kinjo wasn’t getting close either. A bit of a stalemate. 

But they weren’t doing the uneven ground any favors. Divots of dirt and grass flew with each deflected blow. Renji’s hakama were starting to feel heavy with mud and the cold drizzling rain. More than once he came close to losing his footing, sliding on the slippery grass. One of them had to make a decisive move soon, and Renji supposed it ought to be him. He was the one with the date this evening, after all. 

The big dinner date. What the hell…. some kind of posh meal or something? Twenty courses? Of what? Renji half wondered if there’d be anything he’d find edible. Byakuya had the weirdest idea of quality food and what the kitchens at the estate turned out for guests kind of baffled Renji with all the fancy plating and dribbles of sauce to look like birds or whatever. Really, he’d prefer something simpler, straight-forward--

Kinjo was in his face in a second. Again Renji swept Zabimaru up into a parry, all distance advantage lost due to a split second’s loss of concentration. Damn it! Metal thunked against wood. That haft was a hell of a lot stronger than it looked. It didn’t fracture or break like Hozūkimaru did. This felt like hitting a tree stump. 

And this time Kinjo didn’t retreat. As Renji parried, Kinjo flipped the axe head away and brought up the base of the haft between them forcing Renji into a low deflection, and then high as the blade came down again. Quarterstaff technique, and against a sword, it was a bitch to counter. 

Renji tried to gain the initiative, sidestepping and lunging in. Kinjo swept his blade aside and kept coming, driving Renji back and, screw this, any second now it was going to get embarrassing. The grin on Kinjo’s face was gloating, far too freaking happy, and Renji saw red. The next swing he blocked with only one hand on Zabimaru, and used the other to land a strong upper cut to the underside of Kinjo’s jaw.

“Fucker!” Kinjo growled, still coming. Then he spat right into Renji’s face.

The axehead slid into Zabimaru’s teeth and the metal twisted against metal, locked together as much as the wielders were, snarling at each other. But Renji had the weight and height advantage, just, and Kinjo was being pushed back. Feeling at least a partial victory was near, Renji smirked and wagged his tongue at him, rubbing it in as he redoubled his efforts and shoved that little bit harder.

Which was when Kinjo brought the axe haft up neatly between Renji’s legs.

Pain dropped Renji to his knees, and then he instinctively curled around his inflamed balls. Holy shit! Talk about a low blow. But, even as he moaned from the agony, Renji was determined not to let Kinjo win with a dirty, cheating trick like that. 

Though tears clouded his vision, he kicked wildly out for Kinjo’s legs, intending to bring him down. Fuck shikai. This was going more basic. Renji was going to pound the crap out of Kinjo.

He felt his foot connect, so he kept swinging until Kinjo stumbled, nearly landing on top of Renji. This close quarters zanpakuto were useless, but Renji had learned that most shinigami didn’t like letting go. Rolling over, he left Zabimaru in the mud. Pinning Kinjo under him, Renji started battering him with both fists.

Kinjo swung back at him. Renji palmed his fist away without a thought and sent another punch into that smug self-satisfied face. And another, ducking Kinjo’s wild flail as he threw it. Kinjo bucked beneath him, trying to throw him off. Renji wasn’t having any of it. He hooked one foot over Kinjo’s thigh and bore down on it. Using the distance to wind up for a really good punch. Kinjo glared at him, grimacing through bloodied teeth. “Go on then, if you’ve still got the balls for it.”

Renji let it fly, feeling bone crunch under his fist. Kinjo stopped fighting, his hand going to protect his nose and trying to staunch the massive flow of blood. “Oo boke my uckin ose! Oo ucking astard!”

That was it, then: victory. Renji pulled himself off Kinjo and retrieved Zabimaru. Willing him back into sealed state, Renji slid the zanpakutō back into the sheath at his hip. Out of the woods came the Fourth Seat, Nanako, running straight to where Kinjo still lay curled up in the mud, cursing.

_Not together, my ass_ , Renji thought wiping the mud from his cheek as he stomped back towards his quarters.

#

Byakuya daubed a handkerchief against Renji’s mud-spattered, bruised nose in the foyer of the estate. “And how exactly did this help repair your relationship with the Seventh Seat?” 

“I don’t know,” Renji grunted. “But it felt good.”

“I don’t see how it could have,” Byakuya said, resisting the urge to lick the napkin to get at a particularly stubborn dirty spot. “You got kicked in the balls.”

“It was an axe haft.”

“Same result,” Byakuya said, giving up with a sigh. “Honestly, Renji, if he was angry with you before, I don’t see how this simian saber-rattling did anything other than make things worse.”

“I dunno. Some guys just need a punching to make it right.”

Byakuya shook his head. They should probably just cancel the dinner date. Renji had mud in his hair that wasn’t likely to come out until he’d had a bath. His knuckles were a swollen fright. Similarly, the bruise on the side of his nose had started to purple and, though he’d clearly attempted to brush them off, the hems of his hakama were caked in grime. At least he’d changed into fresh shirts, and it looked as though he’d taken the time to polish and oil Zabimaru.

Ironically, Byakuya had spent far more time on grooming himself than he normally did. But, after the sick of the hangover, he’d felt he needed a slow, steady process to get thoroughly cleaned. Thus, he’d had a long soak in the sento and had spent hours trying to find a fairly non-descript kimono he thought might not draw undue attention to them, but which was also fancy enough to wear to the ryoka. He’d removed the kenseikan and had actually played around with the style of his hair for a ridiculous amount of time, before just letting it fall in its usual way. He’d also fussed over the gift he’d planned to give Renji. It was deeply thoughtful and meaningful and just presenting it to him over a tea tray seemed… anticlimactic.

Besides, if they stayed at the estate, Aunt Masama was sure to interrupt.

“We’re going to be late,” Byakuya noted, but with more resignation than urgency. “We’ll lose the reservation.”

Renji smiled, a very rakish look given the state of him. “Eh, you’re the fastest flash-stepper this side of the Precipice World. We can make it if you hold my hand.”

With a return smile, Byakuya agreed, “I’d be delighted.”


End file.
